


North Road, Midday

by orphan_account



Category: Robin Hood BBC
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-28
Updated: 2010-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-07 15:07:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Much," Robin replies, half-remonstrance, half-fondness. He looks back, familiar and beautiful. "Don't you want to?" he asks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	North Road, Midday

They're walking on the bank, the low side of the North Road, twisting their ankles a little to keep a straight line on the uneven ground, and Robin shoots him a glance and says, "Did you tell anyone where we were going?"

Much thinks about it a moment; he talks a lot when he's cooking and sometimes he can't be sure just what has come out of his mouth, but he only remembers taking up his coat and fastening his sword as he left, no words, perhaps some grumbling about masters who walk too fast, say too little.

"No. I can hardly tell them if I don't know myself, can I?" he answers.

Robin's smiling at something, his eyes on the ground, the trees, the tiny bits of blue sky that are keeping pace with them overhead. 

"They probably think we're getting more squirrels to eat. John thought he was eating rabbit last night, but in fact it was rat, and a good -"

Much remembers a moment too late that he had told Robin it was rabbit, too. He glances over with dismay.

"It was disgusting," Robin says; he's still amused. 

"Well, I should like to see you try to feed all those mouths every night while living in a _forest_. Actually, I don't think I would like to see that; I have tasted your cooking and it was terrible. We would all be poisoned and die horribly."

"Why do you think I leave the meals in your capable hands?"

"Because it's my job."

Robin doesn't reply because he isn't listening any more, at least not to Much. He changes direction, leading them down the bank and into a deeper fold of the woods.

"Are we being followed?" Much asks as quietly as he can, and he gets a shake of the head in response. Still, he keeps one hand on the hilt of his sword and one eye on his master. They walk until the ground levels, until the trees pull closer together, and then suddenly Robin's stopping and pulling his quiver from his shoulder and setting down his bow.

"Oh," Much says, an idea rising in his mind. "Oh, do you - we're -"

"Much," Robin replies, half-remonstrance, half-fondness. He looks back, familiar and beautiful. "Don't you want to?" he asks.

"Of course I want to," Much replies. "If you do. _I_ thought we were going hunting. You never say."

Robin's grin is fleeting. "Would you prefer me to announce it? 'Excuse us, everyone, Much and I are just going off for a bit of a tumble'." 

"Ha, no, thank you; it's none of their business. And besides, I don't doubt they would laugh. At _me_."

Robin crosses the little space to stand in front of him, raising his fingers to sneak under Much's vest, putting a warm palm against his ribs, sliding down to his belt. There are buckles and laces that gird Much all over.

"Why would they laugh at you?"

"How should I know? You'd have to ask them. Allan, for instance -"

Robin bends forward, touches their mouths together slowly. 

"Yes, well," Much says, "I don't suppose it really -" He laughs a little, a breathless sound, and starts tugging at Robin's shirt.

Not that the shirt will come off. For some reason it's always Much's clothes that get laid down on the leaves as their bed, it's always Much that is left naked under Robin's eyes. Robin pushes his trousers down, pulls his shirt up from his belly, functional and prepared, but for Much everything is stripped off until it's just him, just his skin and bones and rapid heart. 

Much pulls Robin down to him and Robin digs his fingers into Much's hair, brushes a hand down his hip. He braces himself and pushes their groins together, starting up a slow rub, a sweet grind. A flush spreads along Robin's neck and their eyes meet; here Robin is watching, concentrating.

Every now and then Robin gets it into his head that he wants a nice, slow fuck in the forest, where he spreads Much out bare to the world and presses his lips all over him: his stomach, his shoulders, the insides of his knees - the scar on his neck.

On those occasions there's nothing about Much that Robin doesn't like.


End file.
